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Authors: James F. David
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island counter were pull-down hoses for hot and cold water and compressed air. The whole room could be hosed down or steam cleaned. The floor sloped toward the large drain in the middle. Banks of lights made the room as bright as an operating room.
“The tags go here, or here, or here,” Dr. Norman Gah explained, pointing at the neck, thigh, and hips of the velociraptor Nick kept scanning. “Except the only velociraptors in the continental United States are in Texas and Louisiana, not Florida.”
“They must be hobby velociraptors,” Carmen Wynooski said.
Wynooski was a senior Dinosaur Ranger, the equivalent rank of captain in the army. Wynooski was five foot five, and 160 pounds. Little of it was fat. With a round face, sun-bleached hair in a ragged pixie haircut, brown eyes, and gray teeth, she looked like Nick’s eighth-grade gym teacher, except not quite as attractive. With skin the color of the bottom of a tarnished copper pan, she was courting melanoma.
“Every bubble-riding day trader just has to have their own slice of Dinosauria,” Wynooski continued. “And the bigger and badder, the better. These two velocies probably had their owners for lunch. We should start looking for some shredded designer jeans and a pile of bones.”
“This is a male and a female pair,” Dr. Gah said.
“They come that way,” Wynooski said.
“Norman is suggesting a hobby farmer would not pick a male and female, since they will breed,” Nick said.
“Of course they’ll breed,” Wynooski said. “Velocies hump like rabbits. What the hell do the yuppies care?”
Carmen was an excellent ranger, an organized and efficient administrator, and protective of her people, but she had enough confidence for two people, and it was annoying. Wynooski was always 100 percent sure, but only 50 percent right.
“Someone might buy a breeding pair, but it is unlikely,” Dr. Gah said, pulling on plastic gloves and picking up a scalpel. “Let’s see if we can find out where they came from.”
Dr. Norman Gah was a small man of mixed race—Nick had no idea which races. Slightly Asian in appearance, he had pale skin, with eyebrows as thick and wild as his black hair. Both the eyebrows and hair were in need of combing. With a high forehead and gold-colored wire-rimmed glasses, he had a bit of a mad-scientist look about him.
“Where the hell else would they come from?” Wynooski asked, leaning against a sink, arms folded across her chest. She wore the cargo shorts version of the ranger uniform: green shirt, beige cargo shorts. “It had to be from around here somewhere. The damn things couldn’t traipse cross-country without getting noticed, not to mention they’d kill everything that crossed their path.”
Dr. Gah sliced the abdomen of the most intact velociraptor and then reached inside, feeling around. A mass of white intestines spilled out. Ignoring the intestines, Dr. Gah reached inside again, this time with his scalpel, working by touch, and then pulled out a shiny purplish mass—the stomach. When he sliced it open, liquid spilled out and lumps of gray meat.
Nick’s eyes watered from the sour vomit smell, and he cupped his hand over his nose.
“Whee-ew!” Wynooski said. “Someone light a match.”
Dr. Gah ignored Wynooski, sorting the lumps of meat and chunks of bone.
“Dog, I would say,” Gah said, shoving a few pieces to one side. “Maybe some rabbit appetizer.”
Dr. Gah shoved a soggy piece of fur to one side, a slimy mass with flecks of white.
“Let’s see what’s in the other stomach,” Dr. Gah said.
Dr. Gah dug back inside, this time leaning over, nearly shoving his head into the cavity. Finally, he managed to pull out the velociraptor’s second stomach. While he was opening it, more liquid spilled. Dr. Gah dug out gooey contents, spreading them on the stainless-steel surface.
“This is interesting,” Dr. Gah said, leaning close, separating chunks from goo. After opening a drawer, Dr. Gah pulled
“The tags go here, or here, or here,” Dr. Norman Gah explained, pointing at the neck, thigh, and hips of the velociraptor Nick kept scanning. “Except the only velociraptors in the continental United States are in Texas and Louisiana, not Florida.”
“They must be hobby velociraptors,” Carmen Wynooski said.
Wynooski was a senior Dinosaur Ranger, the equivalent rank of captain in the army. Wynooski was five foot five, and 160 pounds. Little of it was fat. With a round face, sun-bleached hair in a ragged pixie haircut, brown eyes, and gray teeth, she looked like Nick’s eighth-grade gym teacher, except not quite as attractive. With skin the color of the bottom of a tarnished copper pan, she was courting melanoma.
“Every bubble-riding day trader just has to have their own slice of Dinosauria,” Wynooski continued. “And the bigger and badder, the better. These two velocies probably had their owners for lunch. We should start looking for some shredded designer jeans and a pile of bones.”
“This is a male and a female pair,” Dr. Gah said.
“They come that way,” Wynooski said.
“Norman is suggesting a hobby farmer would not pick a male and female, since they will breed,” Nick said.
“Of course they’ll breed,” Wynooski said. “Velocies hump like rabbits. What the hell do the yuppies care?”
Carmen was an excellent ranger, an organized and efficient administrator, and protective of her people, but she had enough confidence for two people, and it was annoying. Wynooski was always 100 percent sure, but only 50 percent right.
“Someone might buy a breeding pair, but it is unlikely,” Dr. Gah said, pulling on plastic gloves and picking up a scalpel. “Let’s see if we can find out where they came from.”
Dr. Norman Gah was a small man of mixed race—Nick had no idea which races. Slightly Asian in appearance, he had pale skin, with eyebrows as thick and wild as his black hair. Both the eyebrows and hair were in need of combing. With a high forehead and gold-colored wire-rimmed glasses, he had a bit of a mad-scientist look about him.
“Where the hell else would they come from?” Wynooski asked, leaning against a sink, arms folded across her chest. She wore the cargo shorts version of the ranger uniform: green shirt, beige cargo shorts. “It had to be from around here somewhere. The damn things couldn’t traipse cross-country without getting noticed, not to mention they’d kill everything that crossed their path.”
Dr. Gah sliced the abdomen of the most intact velociraptor and then reached inside, feeling around. A mass of white intestines spilled out. Ignoring the intestines, Dr. Gah reached inside again, this time with his scalpel, working by touch, and then pulled out a shiny purplish mass—the stomach. When he sliced it open, liquid spilled out and lumps of gray meat.
Nick’s eyes watered from the sour vomit smell, and he cupped his hand over his nose.
“Whee-ew!” Wynooski said. “Someone light a match.”
Dr. Gah ignored Wynooski, sorting the lumps of meat and chunks of bone.
“Dog, I would say,” Gah said, shoving a few pieces to one side. “Maybe some rabbit appetizer.”
Dr. Gah shoved a soggy piece of fur to one side, a slimy mass with flecks of white.
“Let’s see what’s in the other stomach,” Dr. Gah said.
Dr. Gah dug back inside, this time leaning over, nearly shoving his head into the cavity. Finally, he managed to pull out the velociraptor’s second stomach. While he was opening it, more liquid spilled. Dr. Gah dug out gooey contents, spreading them on the stainless-steel surface.
“This is interesting,” Dr. Gah said, leaning close, separating chunks from goo. After opening a drawer, Dr. Gah pulled
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